


Flinch

by InfinitiveSplitter



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fix-It, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Guilty John Watson, Guilty Sherlock, M/M, Parenthood, Parentlock, Past Abuse, Post-Episode: s04e03 The Final Problem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-10-06 22:30:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17353820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InfinitiveSplitter/pseuds/InfinitiveSplitter
Summary: He placed his hand on Sherlock's shoulder, an act done as to innocently alert Sherlock to his presence, yet Sherlock immediately flinched away. Flinched. He hunched his shoulders, his sudden jump away from John's touch knocking his music stand over. Both men's eyes were left wide and unmoving from each other.





	Flinch

"Has she had her milk yet?" Sherlock asked John, bending at the waist towards her place on the couch. Rosie stared back at him, her own blue eyes were fixated on his face. After smiling at her (a smile specifically reserved), he picked her favorite toy off the floor. He remembered why he bought it; it reminded him of John.

Rosie had taken a liking to the small hedgehog immediately.

"Uhh...no, you can do it if you like" John said nonchalantly, but really he was focused on Sherlock's reaction to this offer. Out the corner of his eye he saw Sherlock look a bit timid, smiling sheepishly, before he went into the kitchen for the milk. All of his experiments were now kept in his room. He had cleaned the flat up two weeks before John moved back in, adamant on removing every speck of dirt from the infant's path. John smiled to himself at the thought, yet it slowly slipped away as he reflected on why Sherlock was desperate to care for Rosie. Guilt. He felt guilty for taking her mother away and was going to die trying to fill the hole he had left in her life. John knew that it wasn't Sherlock's fault, even as he beat the life out of him in Culverton Smith's morgue. When John had said that it was in fact Sherlock who had killed Mary, it was branded into Sherlock's brain. 

They never spoke of it again.

When John came back from his thoughts, he saw Sherlock resting Rosie's head in the crook of his elbow. Gently tipping the bottle up, he looked at her with admiration and began softly singing 'The Elements' song to her. One of Rosie's hands wrapped itself around Sherlock's pinky finger, giant in proportion to her. When she was finished with her bottle, John realized he had been staring and so made himself busy by sorting through some old cases. After Sherlock had burped her, he lay her down in her cot by John's chair. This was the first time Sherlock had done it yet repeated everything that he had seen John do- down to the last detail: he had to get it right.

"Hoo-hoo!" they heard from the door. Mrs Hudson.

"I've come to see little Rosie" she said, already making it half-way across the living room towards her. "I think she's missed you" John smiled then looked towards Sherlock, who had his back turned to them, looking down at the street below. John frowned; he looked a little lost.

He got out of his armchair, walking past Mrs Hudson who was holding Rosie, and reached towards Sherlock.

He placed his hand on Sherlock's shoulder, an act done as to innocently alert Sherlock to his presence, yet Sherlock immediately flinched away. Flinched. He hunched his shoulders, his sudden jump away from John's touch knocking his music stand over. Both men's eyes were left wide and unmoving from each other. 

John broke the silence with a quiet "Mrs Hudson? Could you take Rosie downstairs for a bit, please?" Mrs Hudson, seeing what had just happened, left swiftly without another word.

"John, I think I sh-" but before Sherlock could finish his sentence, John had raised his hand for silence. Sherlock could tell he was struggling to breath.

"Sherlock, I need to know... are you... scared of me?" John asked softly, eyes no longer being able to keep contact with Sherlock's. Sherlock sighed and ran his hands over his face. "No, John, it's just... the memory of what happened. I can't help it; I apologize. I'll get it together soon I promise, I just- please don't leave. Not yet. I just need more time!" Sherlock was sounding more and more desperate as his pleas went on. For John, it was difficult to see this man lose his composure.

"Calm down, Sherlock. Breath." John soothed, running his hands up and down Sherlock's arms. Only for a brief amount of time, however, as he stopped upon remembering that his touch made Sherlock uncomfortable. It brought it all back.

"Christ" John swore, his throat tightening, "I really am like my dad aren't I?". When he saw Sherlock about to object, he interrupted him with an almost inaudible "no".

This time, after John took his time to breath, he began what needed to be said. "I was wrong. You didn't kill her, Sherlock, you need to understand this. Please. I'm apologizing to _you_ , now. That's how it's supposed to be." When Sherlock dropped his head, swallowing the lump in throat, John said "Please look at me, Sherlock". When he did, John continued. "I just wanted you to feel what I felt, and that was selfish, Sherlock. I won't ever forgive myself. Ever." John breathed out again, getting a grip on his emotions. This was especially difficult when he realized that if he was Sherlock, he wouldn't forgive himself either.

"I won't leave you" John said "not unless y-"

"-no" Sherlock rushed, cutting him off. That just wasn't an option.

"Alright. Okay. But I'll give you space when you need it. God, I'd bloody bow down at your feet everyday if you need me to. I'm so sorry, Sherlock" John took another break to calm down. Sherlock used the opportunity to pull John into a much needed hug, resting his chin on top of John's head.

"We're quite the mess, aren't we?" Sherlock whispered through a sad smile, hand rubbing up and down John's back. John's body sunk further into Sherlock's, exhaustion taking over as he pushed into the warmth of Sherlock's chest. That's when he remembered himself and reluctantly broke apart from Sherlock.

"I should go and get Rosie back off Mrs Hudson" John said, already moving towards the door. "No. You need some rest, I'll get her" Sherlock replied, rushing ahead of John. John should have told Sherlock that that's exactly what Sherlock needed too, but John really was tired and swayed compliantly towards his bedroom. As he rested, head on pillow, he stared up at the ceiling.

"Yeah" he whispered. "We'll be alright".


End file.
